


Five Times Yennefer and Jaskier failed to seduce Geralt (and one time they succeeded)

by notebooksandlaptops



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (oh god they were roommates), Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Date Night, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Getting Together, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Horse Girl Geralt, Humor, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Movie Nights, Multi, OT3, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Requited Unrequited Love, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Walking In On Someone, and talks to her about his relationship troubles, angsty geralt of rivia, but here are the warnings for it i think, geralt obviously still owns roach, he is a bit of one isn't he?, jaskier develops an alergy to shirts, my gang getting together, there IS smut but its not a play by play of every action, using lollies for your secret flirting tactics, yennefer and Jaskier cannot cook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notebooksandlaptops/pseuds/notebooksandlaptops
Summary: “I always thought it’d be you,” Eskel grunted at him that night, over beers. Geralt glanced over at where Yennefer was sat over at the bar, leaning in too close to Jaskier’s personal space and laughing in a rare, care-free manner.Geralt didn’t know which one Eskel was talking about. But…he was right either way. Geralt had thought it would be him too. In fact, he’d spent a few nights muttering to Roach as he led her into her stable about how he could never choose between the two. “Yeah,” he muttered, throat dry no matter how much of his drink he gulped down.-///-Or, five times Yennefer and Jaskier failed to seduce Geralt, and one time they succeed
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 80
Kudos: 643





	Five Times Yennefer and Jaskier failed to seduce Geralt (and one time they succeeded)

If Geralt tried to pinpoint the beginning of Yennefer and Jaskier’s descent into insanity, he’d probably place it sometime in mid-May.

Of course, he could go back further. Yennefer and Jaskier’s decision to enter into a relationship  _ together  _ might - to a strangers eye – appear more than a tad insane. Even just standing next to each other revealed their stark differences; Jaskier always looked like someone had plucked him straight out of a bubble-gum factory, while Yennefer looked more like she’d stepped from the pages of a gothic Victorian novel.

And then there was the bickering. Because they  _ bickered.  _ Constantly. Since Geralt had made the (possibly inadvisable) decision to introduce them, he had lived a life dogged down by a near-constant tirade of jabs and snark, of low blows and teasing, of rolled eyes and frustrated rants. It was safe to say ‘going to the pub’ was no longer the relaxing ‘wind down’ it once was.

All of this was to say, that Geralt wasn’t entirely sure if he should be shocked or completely unsurprised when he walked into his shared apartment with Jaskier and found them making out on the couch, half-naked, unapologetic and, when they pulled themselves off one another to shoot apologises in Geralt’s direction, grinning from ear to ear.

Opposites attract, right? Isn’t that what people always said about Geralt and Jaskier?

“I always thought it’d be you,” Eskel had grunted at him that night, over beers. It was a Friday, which meant that they’d all met up at the pub, and Yennefer and Jaskier had apparently decided to drop being sneaky now Geralt knew about them. Right now, Yennefer was over at the bar, hopped up on a barstool, leaning in too close to Jaskier’s personal space and laughing in a rare, care-free manner.

Geralt didn’t know which one Eskel was talking about. But…he was right either way. Geralt had thought it would be him too. In fact, he’d spent a few nights muttering to Roach as he led her into her stable about how he could never choose between the two. “Yeah,” he muttered, throat dry no matter how much of his drink he gulped down.

Maybe this was for the best. Had he ever made Yennefer laugh like that? Had he ever brought the spark of contented pride Jaskier had been wearing all night to the musician's face?

No. Probably not.

Geralt pretended he wasn’t watching as Jaskier lent his head on Yennefer’s shoulder, his taller frame meant the position should look awkward, and perhaps it did, a little. But Yennefer didn’t shrug him off as she reached for their drinks and Geralt noticed her turn her head to press her lips to his forehead.

Geralt diverted his eyes, staring resolutely at the wall in front of him, jaw clenched.

He was happy for them.

He was. Really.

And maybe it was a special type of insanity that got them together, but honestly? Even Geralt could tell they were good for each other, that they made each other happy, that they balanced each other out.

In mid-May though? In mid-May, they started being weird  _ around him.  _ Not just around him but…in general. Something was definitely wrong with them. Geralt just had no fucking clue what.

_ -/-/--1--/-/- _

“What are you doing tonight?” Jaskier was bouncing on the balls of his feet, as Jaskier was prone to do. Geralt had never seen him manage to stand still for longer than thirty seconds. It wasn’t endearing. It absolutely was  _ not  _ endearing.

Geralt shrugged off his coat. He’d just come back from the stables, and honestly, he was pretty tired. He was looking forward to an early night.

Maybe Lambert was right, and the grey hair  _ was  _ ageing him too fast.

“Probably your washing up,” Geralt muttered, instead. He’d been living with Jaskier since they were twenty-three – almost five years now – and in all that time he’d never seen the other bother to pick up a sponge.

“Hey! I wash up sometimes,” Jaskier lied, a pout on his lips. (One that was, again, absolutely  _ not  _ endearing).

“Hmmm, the same way that you manage to stay quiet sometimes?”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier laughed, “Look, will you just stop the barrage against my frankly  _ sparkling  _ personality and instead let me invite you to watch a movie?”

Geralt almost pointed out that ‘not-doing-the-washing-up’ wasn’t a personality trait but decided against it. “Isn’t it a Thursday?”

Jaskier clapped, eyes sparkling with mischief, “well done! You’ve successfully grasped the concept of the days of the week!”

Geralt gave him an unimpressed look. He was perfectly capable of recalling the days of the week, and apparently, he was better at recalling Jaskier’s schedule than Jaskier was too. Since Jaskier and Yennefer had gotten together, Thursdays were ‘date night’ which usually meant Geralt kept himself scares so he didn’t accidentally see Yennefer and Jaskier ‘watching a movie’ together, or, as it could be more accurately called, having sex on the couch.

“Come on,” Jaskier put on that pout again, “please? It’ll be fun. We can pick something non-trashy. Something about horses. Or Swords.”

Well, maybe Yennefer had cancelled and Jaskier wanted company for tonight. Geralt could do that. Geralt had a…rather annoying problem of being unable to properly refuse Jaskier anything, though he covered it up with copious amounts of grumbling. He had an awful feeling that Jaskier had managed to catch on regardless.

“Lord of the Rings,” Geralt grunted, finally.

“Oh, you don’t have to talk me into hours of watching a hot rugged Aragorn run around all hot and rugged, you’re on,” Jaskier winked, “I’ll order us pizzas.”

It should have been as simple as that, really. Geralt and Jaskier had had movie nights plenty over the duration of their friendship, though perhaps they’d had less, recently. (Geralt didn’t begrudge it. Jaskier was finally settling into an actual serious relationship. Geralt was an adult, he could handle being left on the outside sometimes). Still, Geralt knew this routine. If Geralt wasn’t careful, a movie night was liable to devolve into Jaskier putting on stupid musicals, singing and dancing along with them but…well. Geralt could privately, in the confines of his own head, admit that he found that sort of amusing.

A chill night in might even be nice. Geralt couldn’t deny he’d felt a little odd since Yennefer and Jaskier got together. He was happy for them, he was. It was simply that happiness for them didn’t necessarily mean happiness for  _ him.  _ It was fine, though. Completely fine. He just…sometimes went out of his way to give them some space. Like on a usual Thursday night.

Only, at about five to seven, just as Jaskier was queuing up the movie, announcing “extended editions only, we’re not cowards,” there was a knock on the door. Geralt went to answer it assuming it would be the pizzas.

It was not the pizzas.

“Yen.”

Geralt tried to school his face into something that wasn’t  _ shocked  _ or  _ disappointed.  _ She was his friend, after all, and he was always happy to see her. Yet the plunge of her neckline and her carefully applied makeup would suggest that she wasn’t just here for a quick pop in. Thursday night. Date night.

Geralt was about to be cast out of the comfort of a movie night, in order to give them space.

Which was fine. It was fine.

Luckily, Geralt was rather good at keeping his face blank.

“Good evening,” Yennefer offered, “may I come in?”

Belatedly, Geralt realised he was blocking the door, and quickly made to retreat, trying not to feel skittish in his own home.

“Of course. I think Jaskier thought you weren’t—”

“Yennefer, dearheart,” Jaskier appeared in the doorway, sweeping her into a kiss like the whole thing was as easy as breathing, a warm hello, affection given without a thought. Geralt wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t.

Jaskier pulled back, after a beat too long for kissing in company. “you’re a bit late. We were just about to put on the movie.”

“Without me?” Yennefer raised an eyebrow, “that suggests you were rushing so I wouldn’t have time to veto it.”

“ _ Never _ ,” Jaskier intoned solemnly, “I’m offended you would even suggest such a thing.”

Geralt awkwardly shuffled, about to retreat to his room.

“Geralt picked it anyway. It’s Lord of the Rings.”

“Ugh,” Yennefer rolled her eyes, “the magic system in that is bullshit. What exactly is the point of having a Wizard in a movie if they never fucking  _ do  _ anything?”

“Yes, yes, we know, you can tell us about all the better fantasy novels while we watch,” Jaskier matched Yennefer’s eye roll, patting her shoulder mock consolingly.

“You can watch whatever,” Geralt really didn’t understand what was going on here. Why would Jaskier invite him to  _ date night _ ? Unless he was…worried Geralt was feeling left out or something. Geralt cringed internally. The last thing he wanted was a  _ pity invite. _

“Nonsense, it’s better than listening to Jaskier’s rendition of  _ I dreamed a dream  _ for the fiftieth time. At least this movie has plenty of hot men and women to draw the eye,” Yennefer headed towards the living room, ignoring Jaskier’s spluttering about Hugh Jackman's looks. “Come on Geralt.”

Feeling a little out of place, Geralt followed, placing himself far away from the couch he was planning on sitting on, and instead, on the rather uncomfortable armchair they’d gotten from a car boot sale years ago. Geralt picked at the slightly fraying fabric and wondered if Jaskier ended up moving in with Yennefer, he’d get to keep the damn thing.

It could have stayed that way with Geralt sat his respectable distance. Except for the fact that Jaskier – in a rather typical Jaskier fashion - seemed intent on making the evening even more uncomfortable than it had to be. They were only ten minutes into the movie when Yennefer jumped up to get the pizzas from the door, and Jaskier patted the seat next to him “Come sit on the couch so we can all share,” he insisted.

And well…like Geralt had said, he found it rather difficult to refuse Jaskier anything. Still, he glanced at Yennefer to make sure it was alright. Yennefer though, wasn’t even paying attention to him, instead, she was watching the screen with avid attention. Geralt knew from a night of far too much wine she had a bit of a  _ thing  _ for Liv Tyler, so he supposed that was why she didn’t protest.

Still, Jaskier was patting the free space beside him.

Geralt moved, tense as he sat. Jaskier didn’t seem to notice, opening the top pizza box, “eat up,” he shoved it towards Geralt.

Geralt picked up a piece of pizza, trying not to feel like he was the third wheel and failing miserably. Were they wishing he’d leave? Would they be making out right now, if he wasn’t about? Would they rather be doing that? Was he crossing a line?

He almost growled in frustration at the whole situation. Once, a few months ago, Yennefer and Jaskier were the only people he knew how to be content around, other than his brothers and Roach. He’d never ‘clicked’ with people, never worked out how to get close to others. Yennefer and Jaskier were supposed to be the exception.

And now…well, now they’d gone and realised what they should have known all along, hadn’t they? They’d worked out they were far better for one another than he could be for either of them.

He was happy for them. He was. He was just…

“Hey,” Jaskier reached over, and Geralt tensed further as he touched a finger to Geralt’s forehead, soothing a crease there, “relax. This is supposed to be fun.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

Eventually, as was prone to happen if Jaskier sat still for long enough, the man began dozing. Which would have been fine, except that he was dozing against Geralt’s shoulder instead of Yennefer’s.

“He’s cute, huh?” Yennefer smirked when she glanced over. She wrinkled her nose a second later, “Drools in his sleep though.”

Geralt never would have imagined Yennefer calling anything cute before she started this thing with Jaskier. Now though…well, Geralt could see where she was coming from.

“I should go, I’ve had a long day.” Geralt muttered, trying to get himself out of the situation.

Yennefer had a look in her eyes that Geralt couldn’t quite decipher, “Geralt, don’t think—”

But before she could continue, Jaskier was grumbling, yawning, making a fuss as Geralt carefully nudged the musician of off his shoulder, “Hmm, what?”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, Geralt, actually we thought—”

“Goodnight,” Geralt said firmly, he couldn’t handle this evening going on any longer. It was  _ weird  _ and it was done out of  _ pity  _ and he just wanted to leave them alone to be happy without him.

He tried not to focus on whatever their expressions were as he left and shut the door to his room behind him. The movie was almost finished anyway.

He did  _ not  _ think about what they might be doing with each other now that he’d left them alone.

He  _ didn’t. _

__

_ -/-/--2--/-/- _

Jaskier seemed to have developed an allergy to shirts.

This wasn’t entirely unprecedented. Jaskier wasn’t  _ modest,  _ not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact – annoyingly, frustratingly - he was rather the opposite. He’d boast loudly about his lovemaking skills, skip into a café and begin telling Geralt about how he’d been cursed with a cock that was simply too big. It wasn’t just how he spoke either. Plenty of times Geralt caught him walking around the apartment with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, seemingly indifferent to whether Geralt was in or not. Geralt thus felt rather intimately acquainted with the curls of Jaskier’s chest hair, and the leanness of his arms (although perhaps not as intimately acquainted as he’d  _ want  _ to be,  _ fuck  _ he had to stop thinking like that).

However, it had become…worse, recently. Significantly worse.

Jaskier laid on surfaces topless (including the fucking kitchen table), humming to himself while playing on his phone or scribbling in the margins of the book he’d borrowed from Geralt and promised he  _ wouldn’t mess up  _ (Geralt didn’t find that endearing either. Going back through his old favourite books and finding Jaskier’s commentaries in pencil at the side. He  _ didn’t) _ .

The first few times he’d caught Jaskier lazing about somewhere shirtless, Geralt had assumed that he was waiting for Yennefer (particularly the time where he tried to half drape himself over the kitchen counter in what may have been a bid for sexiness but was more of a health hazard than anything), but she’d never show up.

The allergy to shirts appeared to go hand in hand with his new obsession with ice lollies.

Of course, it was getting towards summer and Jaskier had the general tastes of a five-year-old. Ice cream, jelly, things that would generally make his hands (and the rest of the apartment) sticky and a damn mess, were all trademarks of a summer spent in close proximity with him.

So Geralt was probably imagining how many more ice lollies he was going through this year, and how they always seemed the most  _ phallic-shaped ones  _ available. Geralt had even gone to the damn supermarket himself to try and get some less offensively shaped options, but they remained stubbornly in the back of the freezer, uneaten.

“Want a lick?” Jaskier would ask, swinging his feet up over Geralt’s lap while Geralt tried to read on the couch, holding the sticky red and yellow mess out.

Grunting, Geralt pushed Jaskier’s feet off.

“Grumpypants,” Jaskier rolled his eyes, unperturbed, juice dripping between his fingers and onto the couch cushions. Messy. Jaskier was so  _ messy. _

Geralt pretended he was only sneaking glances because he was angry about said mess.

Fuck, none of this was good for his health, it really, really wasn’t.

There was only one thing that could make it worse, really.

“Since when have you liked  _ ice cream _ ?” Geralt asked, face paling as he met Yennefer for a walk in the local park and found her sucking on one of those damn things Jaskier liked.

She raised an eyebrow, “Really, Geralt, why so scandalised. It’s just a lolly. Jaskier likes them, and I think they’re rather…” she swirled her tongue around the top of the ice in contemplation. Geralt contemplated simply dying on the spot, “…refreshing. Would you like a lick?”

Geralt decided not to answer that. Assholes. They were both…assholes.

The little summer dress Yennefer was wearing was also a tad more revealing than he was used to, he noted. Or maybe he was just losing his mind.

Geralt wondered if it would never be safe to look at his friends again.

“You’re acting strange,” Yennefer commented, “something the matter? Would you like to open up?” her voice was half-mocking, a mick take of the sort of thing Jaskier would say, but Geralt knew her well enough to know the offer was a sincere one regardless.

_ Strange,  _ though. He wasn’t the one who was acting strange. It was  _ them,  _ he was sure of it. If only he could work out  _ why. _

_ -/-/--3--/-/- _

Kaer Morhen Stables was quiet this evening. Geralt was the only one there, other than Vesemir, and he hadn’t seen the old man since he’d left the tack room. Instead, all that was there to greet him as he brushed down Roach were the various sounds of the other horses who hadn’t yet been turned out to the field.

This kind of day was a welcome reprieve from the weekends. On the weekend, the young kids came up for their riding lessons, and the stables turned into a chaotic mess of youngsters battling for their go on their favourite horses, laughing and wrinkling their noses in equal measures whenever they had to clean out the stables.

But on a weekday, the place was quiet. Calm. Peaceful. He could spend hours murmuring in Roach’s ear, riding, making sure she was well cared for. It was a personal reprieve which he treasured like little else.

The stables sucked away the majority of his pay-check, but he’d never cared. Riding was in his bones, and horses were far easier than the plethora of people the world expected him to deal with on a daily basis. 

“And that date night…It was a fucking shit evening,” he muttered, “and its even shitter, because that’s the longest I’ve spent with either of them in months, really.” 

Roach snorted sympathetically, butting her head against Geralt’s chest. Jaskier had barely come to the stables since he got with Yennefer, either, so Roach was probably missing him too. Jaskier might think he was being sneaky with his pockets full of sugar cubes, but he was about as subtle as a marching band and even noisier in his mischief.

Geralt sighed. He considered texting Yennefer and then thought better of it. She had the day off work, and getting out from under Tissaia’s thumb was always something she claimed to crave, no matter how much hidden affection she might hold for the old bat. No doubt Yennefer would be spending her time relaxing. Perhaps she’d go for a spa day with her boyfriend. That seemed a very Jaskier and Yennefer thing to do.

Fuck, Geralt really should have realised sooner that they were made for each other, shouldn’t he? He was oh so clearly the odd one out it was laughable he’d not seen it years ago. Maybe he’d introduced them, maybe they’d spent years bickering, but when it came down to it, Yennefer and Jaskier understood each other’s wants and needs far better than he could. His only real hobbies were looking after horses, and the fencing lessons he taught down at the local youth centre. He didn’t understand fashion, or conversation, or music. He wasn’t  _ like them. _

“We’ve got each other though, hm, Roach?” Geralt scratched behind her ear, a small smile on his lips from the nicker he got in response. You could always trust horses. Horses never let you down.

He turned to put the brushes back in their box, but before he could, his phone rang. He shrugged, figuring he’d leave it to go to answer machine, but there was only a beat of silence after it stopped before it started up again, loud as ever.

“Fuck,” he muttered, as he reached into his pocket, “I’m coming, I’m coming, Jesus.”

Jaskier’s caller ID flashed on the phone, a picture of him after his first successful gig, wide-eyed and preening from the headiness of a crowd. Geralt almost didn’t answer  _ again, _ but then, Jaskier would probably just keep ringing until he did. The man was like that, sometimes. One-track mind. It really shouldn’t be as endearing as it was.

“I’m with Roach, Jaskier,” he grunted, when he picked up, instead of a greeting. 

“Yes, I know, I know, so I’m only supposed to call you when there’s been an emergency which I  _ think  _ this classes as—”

“Losing your keys does not count as an emergency, it happens once a week,” Geralt reminded him.

“—right, except, good news! That’s not the problem. Now, me and Yennefer are both safe, I should say first and the kitchen is…probably salvageable. We might need to get a few new cupboards but maybe Eskel could come and fix them for us or—”

Geralt felt something tighten in the pit of his stomach. “Jaskier. Spit it out. What did you do?”

Jaskier went uncharacteristically quiet. He could hear Yennefer’s voice in the background, but it was muffled enough that he couldn’t make out the words.

“—we were trying to cook,” Jaskier began, “A meal. For when you got home. And we sort of, ah, maybe started a  _ small, tiny  _ fire.”

Geralt had never really seen Jaskier use the kitchen. Or Yennefer, for that matter.

Well, now he knew why.

“We’re fine! Mostly.” Jaskier continued, as Geralt’s mind struggled to put together what was happening, “I mean, minor, minor smoke inhalation, but the firemen say it's not urgent enough for us to go to the hospital and—”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Geralt interrupted, hanging up. His left hand, he realised, was clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

A  _ minor  _ fire.

But one that Yennefer and Jaskier had been right in the middle of.

_ They’re fine  _ he repeated in his head, trying to quell the rising panic that had begun to thunder through his veins.  _ They’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine. _

He didn’t really remember how he got back, in all honesty. He could vaguely recall finding Vesemir and asking him to take care of Roach and considering how fast he’d made it back he must have done a hefty amount of speeding on his motorbike.

Still, he didn’t think he breathed properly until he saw them. They were on the street below the apartment, both with hideous orange shock blankets draped over their shoulders. They looked…awfully pale, but they were there. They were  _ fine. _

Geralt took five, purposeful paces and wrapped Yennefer in a hug before she could say anything, holding her tight against his body. He felt her exhale against the skin of his neck, relaxing in his grip.

“I’m fine, Geralt,” she murmured, gentle in a way she rarely let herself be. Geralt’s eyes flickered over to Jaskier, who looked fine too, though there was a part of his hair which looked a tad singed. Fine. They were both fine.

Which meant they were absolute  _ idiots. _

“What the  _ fuck  _ were you thinking,” Geralt pulled back, looking between them, relief giving way to anger. They’d fucking  _ scared the shit out of him.  _

“Hey! Why don’t I get a hug?” Jaskier pouted, as if that was  _ at all  _ the correct response to this kind of situation.

“You started a  _ fire  _ in the apartment.”

“Yennefer was responsible too! We got distracted - not our fault, really - and then suddenly the cupboards were on fire and--” Jaskier protested.

“Why the fuck were you even cooking?” this was weird behaviour on top of weird behaviour. First, they’d pity invited him to a date night, then the copious lollipops and now they were  _ cooking. _

He’d always suspected that perhaps someone had dropped Jaskier on his head when he was a child. Now, though, he was beginning to think Jaskier had some insanity driven disease, and he’d managed to pass it on to Yennefer. Next thing, they’d be learning to tap dance while wearing trousers on their heads.

“We were cooking for you,” Yennefer said, finally, “A thank you would be nice.”

“You set fire to my kitchen.” Geralt deadpanned.

“Which is something we can all laugh about later, I’m sure,” Yennefer spoke business-like as if she hadn’t been involved in what could have become a pretty damn serious catastrophe.

“And we got to see cute firemen,” Jaskier piped up.

Geralt shut him up with a glare.

Sometimes, he wondered why he liked these two so damn much.

“So, you’ll be staying at mine, tonight. Eskel has always said he’ll come sort out your kitchen tomorrow,” Yennefer laid her hand on Geralt’s shoulder and Jaskier bounced on the balls of his feet.

“We could always try recooking the meal at yours, actually, Yen and—”

“ _ No, _ ” Geralt growled, when it became worryingly clear that Yennefer wasn’t going to immediately dismiss the idea, “We’ll grab take out on the way over.”

Jaskier pouted.  _ Yennefer  _ pouted.

Fuck, other times, it was so clear why he liked them so damn much that he could barely breathe for it.

_ -/-/--4--/-/- _

Considering that Jaskier was, well,  _ Jaskier _ , it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary to come home to find him lazing on the floor. Nor was it completely out of the ordinary to come home and find him lazing on the floor with an  _ awful  _ mess about him. This wasn’t even the first time Geralt had come home to find him lazing on the floor with an awful mess about him, papers and notebooks and pages and pages scattered to all corners of the room.

Why Geralt put up with him, he had no idea.

( _ It’s his smile, his laugh, the way  _ he  _ puts up with  _ you,  _ the way he knows what your thinking even when you don’t, the way he touches you like it’s a simple thing, the way he looks when he’s performing, the way he— _ yes, alright, his brain could come up with plenty of reasons, but Geralt had elected to ignore them).

“What are you doing down there?” Geralt muttered from the living room doorway. He’d been planning on collapsing on the couch, but he was loath to stand on any of Jaskier’s stuff and navigating the sea of poetry scattered on the floor would take a braver man than himself.

“Composing,” Jaskier didn’t even look at Geralt, his lips pursed in a deep frown as he glared down at the closest page, “about Yennefer.” He seemed to perk up a little at the reminder of his muse, “do you want to hear?”

Geralt tried not to wince.

Jaskier had always been vocal about the people he took as lovers, spilling out compliments and praise to anyone who would listen. Still, other than the De Stael chick, Yennefer was Jaskier’s first  _ serious  _ relationship since Geralt had met him.

It was apparently a lot harder to keep a clamp on his jealousy when he knew that the person in Jaskier’s poetry would be around to stay.

Not that he didn’t want Yennefer to stay. In plenty of ways he wished he was as talented as Jaskier so that he could honour her the way she deserved.

Being jealous over a  _ couple  _ was confusing as hell sometimes, and twice as exhausting as being jealous over just one of them. Geralt wondered why he did this to himself. He didn’t even  _ like  _ people. He liked  _ horses  _ and occasionally  _ children  _ but not  _ people. _

Anyway, Jaskier had always been vocal about the people he took as lovers, and this was no different. But it  _ was  _ getting out of hand in the past week. It seemed, particularly since the fire, that Yennefer was all Jaskier ever wanted to talk about, all that was on his mind. He’d even shown up at the stables just to wax poetic about her (and to nab a twenty off Geralt to go get take out, because the fire had meant that Jaskier had become rather allergic to even using the microwave).

“Fine. You can tell me about what your writing, if you tell me while you tidy up,” Geralt finally muttered, because he knew stubbing Jaskier’s art would just lead to that sad look in his eyes, and then Geralt would feel guilty as shit, and they’d have an awful evening. It wasn’t like Geralt could come clean about  _ why  _ it was bothering him all of a sudden. No, better to just suck it up and listen.

Jaskier scrambled to his knees and began reaching for papers, “Well, see, I was trying to capture her beauty, but then I realised, you know what makes Yen beautiful? It’s the way she’s like…a complete storm. Raging and loud and unapologetic. But then, sometimes, I get to see the eye of the storm and you know, and it’s calm and soft. Like, last night, after we had sex, she stroked my hair for an hour and hummed under her breath while she did, and I’ve never loved her more.”

Geralt did  _ not  _ want to know what Yennefer was like after sex, and yet, on Jaskier went—

“And her smile, when she’s relaxed and happy and post-orgasm, it’s the brightest thing. It makes me want to get under the covers and give her  _ more  _ orgasms, and—”

“Is this supposed to be a poem?” Geralt interrupted, for the sake of his sanity, mostly, “Doesn’t exactly rhyme.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “I’m just composing the sheet music, you know, the tune,” he gestured to some of the papers, “trying to find the right sentiment. The words I’ll get to later.”

“Right.” Geralt rubbed the space between his eyes and tried to ignore the fast forming headache there.

“She’s just…so hot, you know? I mean, of course, you know, you have eyes, but…isn’t she’s just…the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? More than the sea, or sunsets, or the city at dusk?”

Geralt didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He turned his face towards his phone, just to hide the way he knew his cheeks were beginning to flush.

“Are you going to prattle on all evening?” Geralt grunted, finally.

“Hmmm, no. I’m going out. You are too.” Jaskier announced as if it was already a done deal.

“Jaskier,” Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. The headache pounded in a subtle reminder that it was liable to get worse any moment. 

“Oh,  _ please.  _ Come on, we’re going to the pub! You like the pub. You can invite Eskel and Lambert if you want.  _ Please,  _ Geralt.”

And that problem was back, the problem where he couldn’t say no to Jaskier, no matter how hard he tried.  _ Fuck.  _ He was so fucking  _ screwed  _ when it came to all of this.

Sometimes he thought it was better when he couldn’t claim to have had any friends.  _ Bullocks,  _ a voice muttered in his head, one that sounded suspiciously like Jaskier.  _ Idiot,  _ came another, that sounded awfully like Yennefer.

Fuck, they were even haunting his internal monologue now, were they?

So Geralt subjected himself to an evening of booze and bickering; Jaskier and Yennefer sniping at each other good-naturedly, Lambert poking fun whenever he got the chance, Eskel joining in to put the icing on the cake.  _ Bastards  _ the lot of them.

Eventually, Jaskier was drunk enough to start wanting to perform – for a willing crowd or not – and somehow, he managed to get Yennefer to agree to dance with him, despite the lack of dance floor and suitable music. Yennefer’s cheeks were flushed, though Geralt suspected it was more from the wine than any sense of embarrassment. She kept laughing, a true laugh, unpractised and beautiful in its imperfection. Geralt tried not to be envious that Jaskier could just lean forward and taste it whenever he liked.

“Still on for lunch tomorrow?” Yennefer queried before they rounded it up for the night. Jaskier was leaning heavily on her shoulder as they waited for Yennefer’s cab to arrive, half asleep after one too many rounds.

Geralt grunted affirmative.

He met Yennefer every few days for lunch. It was a long tradition, one which had begun sometime around their first meeting and never really stopped. Geralt enjoyed spending time with her. There was often little pressure for him to talk or fill silences, and he knew that she felt the same. For that reason, he perhaps talked to her the most of anyone he knew.

The cafe they chose to meet at this time was rather quaint, but quiet. The sort of place that would become hell once the tourists found it, but for now was tucked safe and out of sight. It would lose the hide and seek game eventually, these places always did, but for now…it was worth a trip to.

“Jaskier’s been writing you love poetry,” Geralt muttered into one particular silence, as he wrapped his hands around his mug.

Yennefer raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of her coffee, her left leg crossing neatly over her right. She was always so poised in public, so aware of invisible eyes on her, so aware and so  _ ready  _ for them. Where Geralt shunned attention and Jaskier purposely shouted for it, Yennefer simply was ready for it. It was a trick Geralt wished he could learn, but one he’d likely never have the skills to master.

“There  _ are  _ perks to being with that boy, you know.”

Geralt tried not to grit his teeth. Well, he’d walked straight into this one, hadn’t he? Couldn’t just leave well enough alone. He had to go and  _ say something.  _ Open up the conversation for her.

He hated it. He hated having to watch what he said around her. It wasn’t something he was used to. He was used to being able to moan about Jaskier’s antics or complain about something that was going on at the stable. Now, sometimes, it felt like negating a minefield. A wrong step could lead to that terrible ache in his chest that never seemed to give him peace.

Geralt sighed, raised his drink to take a sip.

“The sex, for example.”

Geralt chocked.

A small smirk graced Yennefer’s face. It was a dangerous look on her. “Oh, don’t act coy. You’ve been his roommate for years. Surely you’ve heard it through the walls. He’s  _ very  _ talented. He let me ride his face for an hour the other night. And you should  _ hear _ the sounds he makes when I peg him.”

Geralt…did not know what to do with any of that information. He very carefully set his cup back down.

“You alright, dear?” Yennefer asked, tone deceptively innocent, “you’ve gone rather red.”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Geralt searched for something to change the conversation with. Anything at all would do. He’d never hated his abysmal conversational skills more than in that moment.

“Of course, not quite as red as Jaskier’s ass when I spank—”

Geralt’s phone rang.

Maybe there was a God, after all.

He picked it up, trying to get his heart rate back under control. “hello?”

“Geralt! Hi!”

_ Jaskier. Shit.  _ He should have checked the caller ID.

“I was just ringing because I remembered how Yennefer gave this little girl who was crying a flower the other day, and I thought, isn’t that lovely? Isn’t that nice? She’s got a kind heart, beneath all the gothic stuff and, well, not that the gothic stuff isn’t great, don’t you think so—”

Geralt groaned out loud.

They were being  _ weird. _

And they were going to end up killing him.

He almost preferred it when they were setting fire to his apartment.

_ -/-/--5--/-/- _

Geralt was beginning to feel like a bit of a pervert.

It wasn’t his fault, he tried to remind himself. It was simply…an unfortunate coincidence. A set of unfortunate coincidences. But coincidences all the same. 

The first time it had happened, he’d been dropping off a book Yennefer had asked to borrow on his way home from the stables. Yennefer had said she’d be out working most of the day, but Geralt knew where she kept the spare key so ‘ _ just let yourself in, dear’. _

Geralt had done just that, one earphone in listening to some repetitive trash Jaskier had downloaded to his phone as a joke, and Geralt had (secretly) chosen not to get rid of. He was about to text Yen and let her know he’d dropped it off, and that he hoped work was going well.

Except, Yennefer was most certainly  _ not  _ working.

A grunt from the other room had him pulling his earphones out, alert, wary. It would be just like Yennefer to manage to set fire to a kitchen  _ and  _ have a burglar in the same month.

He edged as quietly as possible towards the living room.

There was no burglar.

Instead, there was Yennefer. Yennefer and Jaskier to be precise. Yennefer and Jaskier  _ half-naked  _ and rutting against one another like horny teenagers.

Or—no, no not quite like horny teenagers. There was more finesse to it than that. It was more…mesmerising.

It was Yennefer’s hands hidden in their travel up the back of Jaskier’s shirt, it was Jaskier’s lips against Yennefer’s neck, open-mouthed lazy kisses almost in time with the almost  _ painfully  _ rock of his crotch against Yennefer’s thigh, his fingers snug against the curve of her arse.

Geralt had dropped the book.

There was a moment, a moment when Yennefer’s eyes met his, and her mouth was still open in pleasure, and Jaskier hadn’t even  _ looked up  _ so focused on his task of getting off and—

“Sorry,” Geralt stuttered out, not bothering to pick up the book, not bothering to do  _ anything,  _ except leaving, as quickly as possible. 

Wrong place, wrong time. That was all. They could forgive him, surely? Perhaps they’d even laugh about it later.  _ Haha, remember the time when you walked in on us getting off? How hilarious. _

Of course, whether or not  _ they  _ forgave him, might not be the problem. Neither Yennefer nor Jaskier could exactly be counted as modest. Hell, they’d probably already written it off as a minor thrill and a laugh.

The real problem was that Geralt wasn’t liable to forgive himself for the way he replayed the moment, over and over, and over and over—

Because, of course, his mind was being a tricky bastard. Of all the things it could have chosen to remember in such stunning detail, this was the moment it had picked. He remembered exactly how Yennefer had looked, how Jaskier had looked, how they had looked  _ together.  _ He remembered the few breathy moans he had heard, remembered the moment that Yennefer’s eyes met his…

He also happened to remember such things at rather inopportune moments, such as late at night, alone in bed or while taking a long, warm shower.

But there had to be lines, lines he wasn’t going to ever cross and  _ jerking off to his best friends  _ was certainly one he wanted to hold firm on.

It had been one time. One mistake. One accidental miscommunication that had led to him seeing something he shouldn’t have. It was really best to forget it.

Except then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

The fourth time he’d walked in on them was when he started to think he might need to wear some sort of bell to announce his presence so this stopped happening, or maybe just move to France and remove the risk of happening upon them entirely. Because this? He wasn’t sure he could handle  _ this. _

This being Yennefer perched on the new kitchen counter, Jaskier snug in the V of her legs. The deep purple fabric of her skirt was hiked high, and though they had disappeared under the last inch of fabric, there was no secret to where Jaskier’s fingers were nor what they were doing.

Yennefer looked  _ lost  _ in Jaskier, too, their eyes locked in a moment of uninterrupted intimacy. They weren’t kissing, but they were watching each other so intensely it was almost filthier than if they’d had each other’s tongues shoved down their throats.

There was love there, and lust, and a dozen other things that were for Yennefer and Jaskier alone, not Geralt. Never Geralt.

Geralt retreated before he could be noticed, and decided to take a  _ long, cold shower. _

Coincidence. It was all just a coincidence.

But it  _ kept happening. _

Yennefer on her knees on the back alley outside the pub they frequented, wine-stained lips leaning forward to wrap around Jaskier’s half-hard cock.

Jaskier posing for nudes in the living room when Geralt walked in from work.

Opening an unlocked bathroom door to find them indulging in a bath, everything quite literally on display.

_ Fuck. _

There was only so much one man could take. Geralt was only human after all.

His nights were beginning to get more and more frustrating. He couldn’t risk jerking off, couldn’t risk a one night stand. He knew as soon as he got even the smallest pressure got around his cock, they were all he’d be able to think about, all he’d be able to picture, all he’d be able to see.

He shifted in bed, pointedly ignoring his hard-on and trying fitfully to get to sleep.

And then—

Oh  _ no. _

_ No, no, no, no, no— _

It was the slightest of sounds, but their walls weren’t exactly thick. He hadn’t even realised Yennefer was round but there was no mistaking that voice, even if it was wrapped around the moan of Jaskier’s name.

Well, shit.

Perhaps it was a one-off, an accidental inability to keep quiet. Perhaps they’d stay silent for the rest of the night.

But would that even matter?

Would he be able to sleep, either way, knowing what was going on a wall away from him?

Fuck, he really should move out.

Like,  _ really, really  _ should move out.

Because of course, it wasn’t just a one-off moan. As he lay there, complicit silence encouraging him to strain his ears, he heard another, and another, and another.

_ “Yennefer, fuck—” _

_ “Harder, Jaskier—” _

_ “I’m going to make you cum so hard you see stars—” _

They were being  _ loud. _

Geralt’s traitorous dick throbbed in reminder of how hard it was, how desperate.

He should get his headphones. He should _really_ get his headphones _right now_ and put on some awful, loud, metallic type music for the rest of the evening. He couldn’t listen to this. There was a line, and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross it.

Except somehow, instead of moving to get his headphones, he moved his hand under the covers.

He let out a hiss of pleasure, clamping his lips firmly shut around it when he finally got himself in hand. He could imagine it; imagine what was happening just a wall and a few metres from his exact spot. He’d walked in on them often enough, hadn’t he? He could  _ see it,  _ in his mind's eye; Yennefer on top of Jaskier, the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. How wet would she be for the fingers pressed inside her? For Jaskier’s  _ cock  _ pressed inside her,  _ fuck— _

Geralt was panting, hand moving quickly now, but not too quick. He could hear Jaskier next door, here his moans, close but not yet there. He didn’t want to cum before it was over.

Oh he  _ was  _ a pervert.

He was going to hell for this.

He could imagine Jaskier too, sweaty hair plastered against his forehead, blissed-out smile on his kiss bruised lips, chest heaving but firm, supporting the weight of her with tantalising ease, Yennefer’s body wrapped around him, so that each, throbbing hard inch of him was encased in her pleasure --

He squeezed his eyes shut, listening to dirty talk spoken far too loudly. If he strained his ears just so, he could hear the slight movement of the bed they were laid on.

_ “Yennefer, Yennefer, I’m going to—fuck, I love you, I love you—” _

Geralt came.

Presumably, so did Jaskier.

Geralt let the silence settle back in. He heard a door open, feet padding towards the bathroom. He held his breath as if at any moment either of them might come in and realise what he’d done. He listened to the footsteps go back down the hall.

He waited. A minute. Two minutes. Five. Ten. Twenty.

No sound.

When he was certain it was safe, he stole himself to the shower to clean himself off.

He stared detachedly at the water running down the drain.

He really,  _ really  _ should move out before he crossed any more self-imposed lines. Apparently, his self-control wasn’t as great as he thought it was.

Fuck.

He was actually going to have to move out, wasn’t he?

Geralt took a deep breath, scrubbed himself clean and pretended his heart wasn’t breaking.

_ -/-/-- +1 --/-/- _

Geralt glared down at the apartment listings as if they had personally wronged him. The freshly cleaned Starbucks coffee table made the newspaper sink into little patches of wetness where the waitress hadn’t properly dried after she’d wiped down. 

He couldn’t blame her. Nobody particularly wanted to be at work at seven o’clock in the morning on a saturday, particularly if that place was a crappy starbucks whose regulars were shitty at tipping. Hell, Geralt himself didn’t want to be in a Starbucks at seven o’clock in the morning. The coffee wasn’t worth the price, nor the walk. 

But he was avoiding Jaskier and Yennefer. Yennefer, he found, was the easier of the two. It required cancelling lunches and not going out to the pub. Jaskier, however, he lived with. So avoiding him took considerably more effort. Early starts. Late nights. Only going home when he was sure Jaskier would be asleep or elsewhere. 

He hadn’t spoken to either of them properly since the Incident. The Incident seemed a less aggressive, pervy term for  _ when I jacked off listening to you both through the goddamn wall.  _

And now...now he was looking for apartment listings. He rubbed his eyes, wondering how bad the bags underneath them had gotten. Probably horrific, by now. He hadn’t exactly been sleeping well. 

He  _ missed them. _

Fuck.

He’d always known this would happen, though really. Foster kids didn’t get happy endings. He was to blame, in the end, for having settled, for believing that anyone would get to stick around, that he’d be wanted.

He should have fucking known better.

Because the thing was, he had thought Yennefer and Jaskier were acting weirdly, the past month. Yet now, he could admit that was probably just wishful thinking. 

They weren’t acting weird. They were just a couple.

Geralt was the weird one. The one who was infringing on their privacy and their time together, who was making a fool out of himself by fucking  _ pining  _ like a girl in one of Yennefer’s trashy romance novels. 

So Geralt was removing himself from the situation. 

Jaskier and Yennefer would get on fine without him. They’d move in. They’d start a life. Maybe they’d adopt children, or else go on extravagant holidays and buy fifty dogs. It would be a good life for them. Better than what Geralt would have been able to offer.

He sipped his now lukewarm coffee. The apartment listings stared inconsolably back at him, black ink unforgiving in its bold outline of places that would suit him just fine.

Picking up his phone, he ignored the texts he’d missed from Yennefer, and instead rang the number under one of the ads. A pang of guilt built as he spoke to the lady on the end of the phone. Evidently he’d roused her from sleep. But she agreed to a nine AM viewing, which meant Geralt didn’t have much time to kill.

When he finally got there, the apartment was nice. Simple. A small kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, a living room. The rent was a tad steep but affordable if he made some minor adjustments to his regular shopping list. It wouldn’t be all that hard. He’d be saving money on all those sweet treats he liked to buy Jaskier, just to see him grin when he found them at the back of the cupboard. 

“Would you like a form?” The woman asked primly. She’d been a bit off with him since he arrived, but Geralt  _ had  _ woken her up this morning, so he took it in his stride. Most people were a bit off with him anyway. He didn’t exactly inspire a friendly hello. “We’ll need at least two references for your character.”

Geralt could spend the next few weeks looking at places, or he could accept this one. Either way, he’d be miserable as shit. Might as well get it over with. He’d never really given a damn where he lived anyway. It was Jaskier who had talked him into their current apartment, and Yennefer who had helped decorate it. 

Geralt probably wouldn’t do much decorating in the new one. 

He hesitated before signing the form, putting down Yennefer and Jaskier’s names. Vesemir was an option, he supposed, as well as his foster brothers, but all of them were awkwardly-semi-related to him. He’d either done a stint living with them at some point in his childhood, or considered them family now. 

Besides, Yennefer and Jaskier would probably be happy to receive the phone call. They had probably been waiting for him to move out this whole time and been too polite to ask. 

“I’ll be in touch,” the woman promised. Geralt kept his face purposely acted like the words didn’t spur a sinking emptiness in his chest.

He pointedly ignored the way his hand refused to unclench as he took a meandering walk back to the apartment. Hopefully Jaskier would be out and about, getting on with his day. Geralt probably needed to start packing. 

Geralt sighed, taking another back alley. The city air was cool against his cheeks, refreshing in a way that Jaskier would have a dozen metaphors for.

Geralt considered punching a wall, just to have something else to think about. He wished he’d bought his damn headphones.

How long after he’d moved out, he wondered, would he still think of them? How long would his thoughts be dogged down by the near-constant presence of Yennefer and Jaskier? Their voices, their opinions, their mannerisms. The casual things he’d note to tell them about later. How long until that faded?

He grit his teeth. He had an awful feeling the answer was  _ far too long. _

Mercifully, the apartment was blissfully silent when he entered. He stuck his head in a few of the rooms (he didn’t want a rerun of the book drop off) but no, empty. Wherever Jaskier was, it wasn’t here.

Which was what Geralt had wanted. So he really had no right to feel disappointed about it. 

He checked his phone for the time. A missed call from Jaskier and a few texts he didn’t bother reading flashed up too, but he ignored them just as he had that morning. Instead, Geralt listened to the dull hum of the microwave after putting a tin of soup in to warm for lunch. He’d need to clean the table, he realised, belatedly, as the timer went off, Jaskier’s notebooks were scattered across it haphazardly.

Well, at least his new apartment wouldn’t be so much of a mess.

He’d probably get more done on his lunches too, now he wouldn’t be meeting up with Yennefer for coffee.

It all worked out for the best, really.

Plenty of adults spent their time alone. Geralt  _ liked  _ time alone. He’d spent most of his life being labelled a  _ lone wolf,  _ an  _ introvert, anti-social.  _ He’d have more time for Roach, and spend less time clearing up the apartment. 

He hefted the books, only halting when he noticed that one had his name in it. Not entirely out of the ordinary. It barely even gave him pause. He knew Jaskier took inspiration from everywhere, so why wouldn’t Geralt be scribbled about somewhere in a margin. He’d ignored that sort of thing before.

Still, what could the harm be now, in taking a peak? He’d already crossed too many lines when it came to Yennefer and Jaskier. This hardly equalled the magnitude of his  _ last  _ mistake with those two. Maybe it would be nice, to see what Jaskier associated him with, one last time. Something to remember.

**_Yennefer and Jaskier’s quite frankly, brilliant and foolproof Plan(s) to seduce Geralt_ **

Wait, what?

Geralt blinked, trying to refocus on the page. He’d read it wrong, surely. Except…no. There it was, plain as day. He reread it. Reread it again. And again. The words stayed the same, the title stubbornly refusing to edit themselves into something that made even a little bit of sense.

After the fifth time, the title stayed the same, and Geralt was forced to move on.

_ 1) Invite him to date night – let him pick the movie! DID NOT WORK. APPEARED TO BE WORKING, ORIGINALLY, UNTIL GERALT GOT SKITTISH. TRY SOMETHING MORE OBVIOUS? _

_ 2) Seduce Geralt one on one! Licking of the lips, ice cream, so many lollies THIS ONE DID SEEM TO WORK, PARTLY. SEEMED TO ATTRACT HIS ATTENTION, BUT DIDN’T GET HIM TO MAKE A MOVE :( _

_ 3) Cook for him! Everyone loves a home-cooked meal. DIDN’T WORK – SET KITCHEN ON FIRE BECAUSE OF DISTRACTION BY IMPROMPTU MAKE OUT SESSION. WHOOPS. DEFINITELY  _ _ YENNEFERS  _ _ FINE  _ JASKIERS  _ FAULT. _

_ 4) Talk each other up AGAIN, MILD SUCCESS, BUT WITHOUT ANY CONCRETE RESULTS _

_ 5) Let him walk in on us being intimate ;) NOT WORKED AT ALL. HE’S STARTING TO AVOID US. _

__

Geralt re-read again. And again. And again. Honestly? The list made even less sense than the title.

Geralt had spent the morning viewing an apartment so that he could  _ get away  _ and  _ give them space.  _ He didn’t need telling it was what was needed. Hell, it was what they must  _ want.  _ So they didn’t need to pity invite him to dates, or risk him walking in on them half naked against whatever wall would take them. 

Yet here, written in Jaskier’s scrawled handwriting, was a list that would argue otherwise. 

Slowly, Geralt’s fingers traced the loop of Jaskier’s cursive:  _ Seduce.  _

This was a joke, of some kind. 

They weren’t trying to  _ seduce  _ him. 

“Geralt! Where the  _ fuck  _ are you?” 

Geralt jumped at the sudden sound, the book dropping with a clatter onto the kitchen table. Jaskier. Jaskier was here, and banging doors open like they’d already wasted their deposit (they had. Jaskier and Yennefer  _ had  _ started a fire in the kitchen, after all). 

“I’m going to fucking  _ kill  _ him,” Yennefer’s voice joined Jaskier. “If he doesn’t answer his fucking--”

Yennefer’s voice trailed off as she rounded the corner to the kitchen, Jaskier half a step behind her. 

“You!” Jaskier pointed, face flushed red with what Geralt realised, with a sickening thud, was anger. 

Jaskier was using his  _ I’m-actually-pissed-I-will-punch-you-if-you-test-me  _ voice. Geralt had heard it plenty of times before Jaskier’s fist connected with some smug arseholes face. 

Now, it would appear, Jaskier had decided he was the smug arsehole that needed a talking to. 

“What?” Geralt said the word slowly. He wasn’t sure what to do with their twin looks of fury directed towards him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve them. His mind was too busy dealing with the full implications of that  _ list.  _

“You’re  _ moving out?  _ You just think you can up and leave, put me down as a character reference  _ without even mentioning it  _ beforehand? I’ve got to hear it from some prissy sounding woman on the end of the line? That’s how you were going to let me know you’re going fucking  _ full scale  _ with your damn avoidance tactics?”

_ Ah.  _

Geralt grimaced, throat dry, “I should have called.” 

“Yeah. You fucking  _ should  _ have,” Yennefer’s voice wasn’t as loud as Jaskier’s half-shouts, but it cut deep like the edge of a blade regardless, sharp and no-nonsense and  _ dangerous.  _

“We told them you were a loud, bossy man, who had three huge dogs you kept trying to hide from your landlords, and that you smoked so much pot, they’d never wash the smell out of the carpet. So. Good luck with your fucking application,” Jaskier seethed. He’d marched right across the kitchen now, prodding Geralt’s chest as he got up in his face, “What the fuck, Geralt? You don’t decide to move out without telling me. Without telling  _ us.  _ You’ve been pulling away and I don’t know if it’s because we’ve made you uncomfortable with our assumptions or-- or what, but I’m fucking sick of it.” Jaskier had worked himself up, now, panting, cheeks flushed red from the anger, “We’re your best friends. We deserve more than this.”

Geralt was shit with words. Always had been. Jaskier could spin hoops with language, and Yennefer might be less extravagant with her metaphors but she knew how to communicate. 

Geralt though? It had never been his strong suit. Words flittered, weren’t right, never conveyed his meaning well enough. He opened his mouth to try and reply, but nothing would come out. Nothing was coming out now, with Jaskier stood in front of him, chest still heaving. If Geralt glanced behind him, he could see Yennefer’s rather terrifying no-nonsense glare. 

Actions. Geralt swallowed down whatever inept and undesirable words he might have been about to say. He'd always been better at actions than he was at words anyway. 

So, well aware he could get punched for it, he moved the half a step forward into the rest of Jaskier’s personal space and carefully put his arms around Jaskier. “I’m sorry.” He muttered. “It was a dick move.”

Jaskier tensed, just for a moment, shoulders bunching and then--

And then he went almost boneless, face buried into Geralt’s neck. 

It struck Geralt then that, although he had never been a tactile person,  _ Jaskier  _ was. They’d watch movies on the couch and cuddle, Jaskier would put his feet up in Geralt’s lap while Geralt read a book out loud to him. When was the last time they’d done that? Sometime back when Jaskier was on one with the ice lollies?

Geralt swallowed. He’d been...a shitty friend, hadn’t he? 

Not that they’d been entirely up front with him either. His eyes strayed to the notebook he’d dropped on the table, but found it gone. He frowned in confusion, but then realised that Yennefer had perched on the newly replaced kitchen side, and was holding it in her hands. 

“Did we read you wrong, Geralt?” Yennefer asked, voice still holding that oddly sharp quality through its unrelenting softness. 

“What do you--” Jaskier pulled back, realised what was in Yennefer’s hands and made an awful, high pitched, squeaking noise. 

“Oh  _ shit,  _ I should  _ not  _ have left that laying around--”

“I left it lying around.” Yennefer interrupted, “I put it on the kitchen table, before I left this morning. So he could read it,” at Jaskier’s indignant squawk, Yennefer shrugged, “we were getting nowhere, Jask. Either Geralt was uncomfortable by the come ons, or he didn’t know they were come ons. Figured this way, he could find out for himself,” Her face was never as much of a mask as Geralt’s was, but she often kept her emotions disguised just as well. Yet there, in the downturn of her lips, something of  _ sadness  _ was bleeding through, “I didn’t think he was planning on moving out, mind.”

Jaskier stepped away from Geralt and towards Yennefer instead. 

Geralt tried not to feel like that was somehow symbolic. Because apparently, the symbolism he’d been reading into everything was jack shit. He should leave the literary metaphors to Jaskier. 

“So, did we? Read you wrong, Geralt?” 

Geralt felt, rather suddenly, put on the spot. 

There were a dozen answers to that. Maybe more. They’d gone about all this in the  _ worst  _ way. Geralt wasn’t good enough for them. Geralt would only disappoint them. Why did they even  _ want  _ to read him? Why didn’t they want him gone. Yet the only one that came out in that moment was a simple:

“No,” he swallowed, pulling on whatever courage he had stored, “no. You didn’t.”

Quiet in the kitchen.

Then--

“You mean…?” And very suddenly, he had an armful of Jaskier again. “Fuck, Geralt, seriously, you  _ want  _ us and you didn’t even respond properly to  _ any  _ of our come ons?”

Geralt shifted awkwardly, planted his feet firmer so he wasn’t knocked over by the sudden reappearance of Jaskier in his arms, “You were a couple...I didn’t know I was allowed…”

“I’ve been flirting with you for donkeys years. So has Yennefer,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You really didn’t know that? Gods, Geralt, you’re so fucking  _ dumb  _ sometimes, Geralt.” 

Geralt blinked. He...didn’t know that, actually. 

Yennefer slid off the side, moving to place one of her manicured hands against Geralt’s shoulder, “you were welcome to join in. Always.”

Geralt could feel the heat at his cheeks, “I...yeah. I get that now.”

Jaskier was bouncing on the balls of his feet still, untamable in his excitement. Geralt tried to come up with a word to describe it, but his mind stuck on  _ cute.  _

“Are you going to kiss him, or what?” Yennefer asked, and fuck, she could have been talking to either of them, but suddenly, he had a rather enthusiastic Jaskier doing just that. Jaskier’s lips were soft, and tasted like that those awful fizzy-pop-flavoured chapsticks he loved so much and  _ fuck  _ he was  _ kissing Geralt.  _

“My turn,” Yennefer spoke, somewhere to the left, and suddenly slender hands were cupping Geralt’s cheeks and turning his face lightly to the left. It was slightly different kissing Yennefer. He had to lean down, and he could smell her lilac and gooseberry perfume clogging his nose. Different...but so fucking good. 

“Come on,” Jaskier tugged on Geralt’s shirt, “Saturday. Nowhere to be. Which means the only place to be is bed.”

With Yennefer’s hands still on him, and Jaskier leading the way, who was Geralt to disagree?

-///-

“We  _ hoped  _ that’s what you’d do, you idiot. Have you been feeling guilty this  _ whole  _ time?” 

The bed wasn’t really big enough for three (something Jaskier had promised to rectify as soon as possible) which meant they were squashed together. Geralt had found his way to the middle, Yennefer and Jaskier - his  _ lovers  _ \- huddling on either side. 

Geralt shrugged helplessly, “felt like a creep.”

Yennefer snorted, like that was the most unreasonable thing Geralt could have said, “we  _ like  _ an audience. Why do you think we end up doing oral in back alleys so much? Thrill of being caught.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness underneath it all, and a thrum of excitement at the idea of being  _ roped into all this now.  _

Yennefer’s fingertips worked through his hair, “we should have realised you’d need us to say it outloud.”

“Hmm, you’re far too angsty,” Jaskier agreed. He had his eyes closed, gloriously naked with his head pillowed on Geralt’s chest, lazy after he’d got his. “We thought it would be funner to play the seductress.”

“Suppose it worked. In a way. Certainly wanted you.”

“It almost drove you away,” Yennefer pointed out, her lips coming to press to Geralt’s forehead, then his cheek, then his lips. Slow, long, lazy kisses exchanged, open mouthed but sleepy. 

When he finally pulled back, Jaskier’s eyes were open, staring at them with a wide grin on his face. “You know,” he said, “I know it took us months and several failed plans to get here but...I’m so fucking happy right now. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

Geralt looked between Yennefer and Jaskier huddled close to him, and found that he had to agree. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first, huge shout out to my amazing beta [@thegirlinthetardisat221b](https://thegirlinthetardisat221b.tumblr.com/). I wouldn't write half the stuff I do without your unending support, the way you put up with my stupid ramblings when I get an idea, and of course, your actual betaing which makes me 100% more confident to post my fics. 
> 
> Secondly, I'm so excited to post this one? I've been excited about writing it for a while now. I just...love my ot3 gang so much, you know? Please let me know what you think of it!
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr for drabbles, writing and general witchering [@Jaskier-wearing-dresses](https://jaskier-wearing-dresses.tumblr.com/)
> 
> toss a comment/kudos to your tired fanfic writer?


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